#Scots #XIXCentury
The lights from the parlour and ki… Through the blinds and the windows… And high overhead and all moving a… There were thousands of millions o… There ne’er were such thousands of…
The gardener does not love to talk… He makes me keep the gravel walk; And when he puts his tools away, He locks the door and takes the ke… Away behind the currant row
MY first gift and my last, to you I dedicate this fascicle of songs… The only wealth I have: Just as they are, to you. I speak the truth in soberness, an…
O it’s I that am the captain of a… Of a ship that goes a sailing on t… And my ship it keeps a—turning all… But when I’m a little older, I sh… How to send my vessel sailing on b…
Child — O mother, lay your hand on my brow… O mother, mother, where am I now? Why is the room so gaunt and great… Why am I lying awake so late?
YOU remember, I suppose, How the August sun arose, And how his face Woke to trill and carolette All the cages that were set
OUR Johnie’s deid. The mair’s th… He’s deid, an’ deid o’ Aqua—vitae… O Embro’, you’re a shrunken city, Noo Johnie’s deid! Tak hands, an’ sing a burial ditty
When I am grown to man’s estate I shall be very proud and great, And tell the other girls and boys Not to meddle with my toys.
THE wind blew shrill and smart, And the wind awoke my heart Again to go a—sailing o’er the sea… To hear the cordage moan And the straining timbers groan,
Sing me a song of a lad that is go… Say, could that lad be I? Merry of soul he sailed on a day Over the sea to Skye. Mull was astern, Rum on the port,
I knew thee strong and quiet like… I knew thee apt to pity, brave to… In peace or war a Roman full equi… And just I knew thee, like the fa… Who by the loud sea-shore gave jud…
The sun is not a—bed, when I At night upon my pillow lie; Still round the earth his way he t… And morning after morning makes. While here at home, in shining day…
WHEN loud by landside streamlets… And clear in the greenwood quires… With sun on the meadows And songs in the shadows Comes again to me
My bonny man, the warld, it’s true… Was made for neither me nor you; It’s just a place to warstle throu… As job confessed o’t; And aye the best that we’ll can do
About my fields, in the broad sun And blaze of noon, there goeth one… Barefoot and robed in blue, to sca… With the hard eye of the husbandma… My harvests and my cattle. Her,
